He hates it.
He never asked for the keyblade to choose him. He's barely fourteen and he has the fate of the worlds resting on his shoulders. It's overwhelming, it's frightening, and sometimes he wishes he could close his eyes, count to ten, and make it all just disappear.
When he's alone at night there is nothing to distract him from his doubts and fears, and he wonders why all of this is happening, why he's the one who has to shoulder this burden. He wants to know more than anything.
But no one will tell him.
When they attack him, when they hurt him, they never give him reasons. They only say that it's his fault because he's the keyblade bearer—but that confuses him. Don't they know that he never wanted this? All he wants, all he's ever wanted is to be with his friends.
But he's not even allowed that anymore. They've been taken away, hurt, used, turned against him, and he doesn't understand why.
But if he's really being honest with himself, he knows.
Deep in the darkest corner of his mind, tangled up in loneliness and pain, he knows. It's because of the keyblade.
He hates that thing.
Sure, it was cool at first. The novelty of a new weapon, the rush of adrenaline he'd get during battle, his rapid progress…he'd actually enjoyed it at first.
Then he'd seen Riku again.
Riku. His best friend since forever. The boy whose wide-eyed face was his very first memory. The person with whom he had shared everything; a lifetime of laughter, tears, and unfaltering loyalty.
Except it wasn't really Riku at all. It couldn't be. Because this boy had told him all sorts of terrible things. This boy said he hated him.
He wanted to shut his eyes and cover his ears. He wanted to scream; You're NOT Riku! Riku's my friend, we've always been together. He would never say those things to me! I don't know who you are, but you're not HIM! But he hadn't said it, and the Riku(notRiku) had just laughed an awful, cruel laugh and walked away from him. And all he could do was stare after and try not to cry.
That's when he'd known that something was horribly, horribly wrong.
He began trying to get rid of the keyblade then. He didn't want it anymore, not if it turned his friends against him. Not if it turned Riku against him.
But it wouldn't go away.
No matter how many times he threw it away, no matter how many times he wished it would disappear; it always came back. It was like it was laughing at him—reminding him that he couldn't ever escape.
Still, he used to think about what would happen when they all got back to the island. About how Kairi would laugh and beg him to tell her again how he'd fought the heartless and saved the worlds, and how maybe he'd finally be able to beat Riku in a sparring match. He would think about how they'd all sit on the beach and watch the sun go down, just like they always used to.
He doesn't think about that anymore. It hurts too much. Now he wonders if he's even going to get home at all.
He's beginning to doubt it.
Because every time he's getting close, every time he thinks that maybe he can finally start to repair the holes that have formed between him and everything he cares about—something happens to rip him away again.
"You've got another mission."
He doesn't want another mission. He wants his friends, he wants to go home. He wants to wake up in the morning and not have to worry about battles and strategies, wondering if he's going to survive the day—not even sure if he wants to. He wants to scream it in the old man's face...
But he doesn't.
He just smiles and nods, crushing down the resentment because, inside, he knows he doesn't have a choice—that he's never had a choice.
And he hates it.
But what can he do?